


By Her Hand

by Spiderlily_Writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (dub)con, Aftercare, Bondage, Captivity, Dorothea is a very good actress., F/F, Hand Jobs, Interrogation, Knifeplay, Love, Verbal Humiliation, adoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderlily_Writes/pseuds/Spiderlily_Writes
Summary: Ingrid seems to have been captured by the enemy, one who intends to do all manner of dastardly things to her. Unless, of course, she's willing to submit, defect, and swear allegiance, and Dorothea can be very persuasive.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	By Her Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I promise this is more consensual than it appears. Please do not hurt me. Also, in this fic, the characters engage in a little knifeplay. Do not play with knives in a sexual context unless you have received very specific training or education on how to do so properly. This fic does not count as training, nor will I provide it. Be safe out there, my horny friends.

If Ingrid Brandl Galatea had one gold piece for every time she’d been tied to a chair in someone’s bedroom, she would have two gold pieces. That wasn’t a lot, but she figured it was strange that it happened twice.

The first time, years ago, she’d been a student at Garreg Mach. It had been several months into her time there, and it had been Mercedes’s bedroom. It had been nothing untoward, of course, nothing improper. She’d passed out on the training field after repeatedly insisting to Mercie that yes, she’d had enough water, and no, she didn’t need to take a break. 

It had been somewhat ironic, then, when a sudden dizzy spell led to Ingrid falling flat on her face and acquiring several nasty bruises in the process. She’d awoken several minutes later to find that Mercie, being Mercie, had tied her to the chair in her bedroom by her ankles and midsection. The Goddess only knows how Mercedes had carried her there by herself, but the older woman had refused to let her leave until she’d had two full glasses of water and a proper meal.

It had been galling, and Mercie had never let her forget it.

This time, though, was a bit different. To start, she was blindfolded, which was a distinctly uncomfortable situation to find herself in. Ingrid had spent years training her situational awareness; it had kept her alive more than once on the battlefield. Suddenly being rendered sightless really wasn’t particularly advantageous if she wanted to try to escape her bonds, which she most assuredly did.

Those bonds were going to be difficult to slip though, because this time, she was tied by her ankles, her midsection,  _ and _ both arms had been folded behind the back of the chair and secured at the wrist by a length of strong cord. Ingrid had been working at freeing herself for the last five minutes or so, but to no avail. She couldn’t get a decent grip on the blasted thing, and so she resigned herself to waiting.

She didn’t have to wait long. Her captor was seemingly quite eager to get things started.

“My, my, Miss Galatea,” purred a lilting, musical voice about an inch from her ear. The speaker was close enough that Ingrid could feel her breath, hot against the side of her face, and could smell her heady floral perfume. “Whatever shall I do with you? Such a gorgeous thing you are. It would be a crying shame to do anything to mar that pretty face, would it not?”

Ingrid frowned, and her brow furrowed in defiant anger beneath the blindfold, though she knew her captor couldn’t see it. “I will give you  _ one _ chance to let me go, before I have to do something you might regret. You don’t know who you’re toying with.”

There was a laugh, beautiful and deadly as a larkspur bloom. “Oh, but my dear Ingrid, I know  _ exactly  _ who I’m toying with. Do you think I’d do all this for just  _ anyone _ ?” She heard a delighted little hum. “You’re Ingrid Brandl Galatea, knight of the Kingdom, captain of King Dimitri’s royal guard, and privy to many, many secrets. Have I got that right?”

She growled, annoyed that her captor had even that much information. “Why don’t you get to the point and tell me what you want?” Ingrid demanded, pulling at her bonds to emphasize her frustration. “That way, I can deny you, you can have me whisked away, and the whole affair can be over with, Dorothea.”

Dorothea gasped, delighted. “Ah, so you already know who I am! Delightful, simply delightful. I think I’ll leave the blindfold on anyways; it’s just so much more fun that way.” Ingrid inhaled sharply as she felt Dorothea lay a hand on her cheek, then drag it downward, scraping her neck with her nails. “More fun, when you can’t see what’s coming.”

Ingrid didn’t know if she would call the blindfold  _ fun _ , per se, but it was certainly interesting. While she couldn’t see, she felt so much more aware of other sensory information. She could feel the cool, stagnant air in the room, as well as the ropes that dug into her skin. The smell of Dorothea’s perfume, the sound of her voice, both were ordinarily sweet, but now, they were positively  _ saccharine _ . 

“What do I want, you ask?” Dorothea mused, leaning closer, putting her lips to Ingrid’s neck as she spoke, so close she could feel words spoken against her flesh. She could feel Dorothea’s long, wavy hair tickling the bare skin there, and it cascaded down her front, over her simple woven shirt. The other woman chuckled again, a low, husky sound, then dragged her tongue slowly, agonizingly up, up to nip at Ingrid’s ear. “My dear Ingrid,” she began, her name a song on Dorothea’s lips. “I only want  _ you.” _

Heat rose in Ingrid’s chest at those words and actions, she felt it swell out of her stomach, up her neck, across her face, and to the tips of her ears. Dorothea sounded  _ hungry _ . She sounded ferocious. Ingrid groaned involuntarily, before biting her lip to keep herself quiet. It was too late, though. 

Dorothea laughed again, melodic as before. “Oh, my darling Ingrid, that was too precious. You tell me no, but…” she trailed off, her mouth moving up to the shell of Ingrid’s ear, all warm breath and ghostly kisses. This time, Ingrid shuddered and pulled her head away reflexively as Dorothea teased her. “Your body betrays you. Oh, my Ingrid, what fun we might have...”

She could feel herself beginning to sweat. As a soldier, one often tasked with sensitive duties, she had been trained in ways to resist interrogation. She knew how to handle torture, threats, jibes, blackmail, humiliation, even the threat of death. The one thing nobody had prepared her for, though, was a beautiful woman whispering sweet nothings.

Interrupting Ingrid’s train of thought, her captor put one hand on the knight’s collarbone, pressing her gently back against the chair. As Dorothea continued to tease atop and around Ingrid’s ear, she slid that hand back and forth across Ingrid’s upper chest, deliberately ignoring her breasts. It slid up to her throat, where, again, Dorothea pressed lightly, as though she were about to try to choke her, but never enough to restrict her air. The hand moved to cup her jaw.

“Oh Ingrid, do tell me you’ll be mine. Please, I could make such use of you. I’ve always wanted a big, strong woman to protect me from all those who would do me harm,” Dorothea pled, her other hand tangling itself in Ingrid’s hair. Her words were fervid, as though she were running out of time. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’ll share your secrets and come to me.”

“G-Go to hell,” Ingrid spat, though she couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. It was all she could do to stay level-headed, because Dorothea was right. Her body  _ was _ betraying her. It betrayed her true desires, the things she really wanted, how much she wanted Dorothea to ravish her. But those thoughts were base, they were low, and she cast them away. “If you know me at all, you know I’m not going to be swayed by any of that.”

The hand in her hair and the one on her jaw both jerked, suddenly, yanking her head back and baring her throat. She cried out in shock and pain. “So, you can resist pleasure on its own,” said Dorothea through gritted teeth, her voice still honey-sweet. “I wonder about pain.”

While Dorothea tightened her grip on Ingrid’s hair to keep her head in place, the other hand slipped away with no warning or fanfare. Ingrid still couldn’t see, but she could feel Dorothea’s frustration; she was a woman who wasn’t used to being denied much of anything when she used her charms in such a way. Unfortunately for her, Ingrid was stronger-willed than most. 

She heard, then, the tell-tale and subtle singing of something...metal? As though a weapon had been drawn from a sheath. Her heart began to beat quicker, and she pulled at her bonds again. Surely, Dorothea wasn’t mad enough to-

Ingrid felt something razor sharp, and icy cold press against the hollow of her throat. The pin-prick fine point of a dagger, more likely than not. She wasn’t surprised Dorothea would keep one on her, but she was surprised that it would get drawn  _ now _ . A word, one that would end this, slipped to the forefront of her mind, but she flicked it away, annoyed. She could handle a  _ dagger _ .

Still, there was something primally terrifying about a knife being held to her throat. It was something that went beyond fear and bravery and lived in some deep, animalistic part of the brain. It was a feeling of mortal peril, the knowledge that one slip, one press, one quarter-inch too hard, and she would die in that chair. Ingrid held perfectly, totally still, quiet as the grave.

“Oh, dear Ingrid, suddenly you don’t have anything to say, do you? I can’t say I blame you; if I had a knife pointed at my throat, I’d be quite careful about how much I moved as well,” Dorothea purred, then slowly traced the point of the dagger down her throat. Ingrid held her breath as it moved, not daring to cry out or even tremble. She didn’t want to do anything that could startle her. After a few seconds, the dagger came away, and Ingrid heaved a choked, heavy sigh of relief. “Don’t think we’re finished yet, darling,” Dorothea sang. 

She let go of Ingrid’s hair, allowing the knight to straighten her neck. For a moment, Dorothea seemed to have withdrawn entirely, and Ingrid took a second to catch her breath. She would never admit it, not to anyone, but having Dorothea drag a dagger down her throat after all that teasing had her more turned on than she’d been in ages, and she squirmed in the chair.

It was hard to track the time Dorothea was gone. It could have been a minute, it could have been twenty, but she didn’t hear movement, nor footsteps, not anything to indicate that she had left the room, so Ingrid stayed quiet. Eventually, she  _ felt _ , rather than heard, motion behind her. It was slight, just a little shift in the air, but it let her be a tiny bit ready as she felt Dorothea suddenly against her. 

Her captor reached forward and took her jaw once more, leaning Ingrid’s head back to rest against her bust. “Aww, Ingrid, you jumped! Did you miss me?” Dorothea cooed, and Ingrid kept silent, trying very hard not to think about the way their bodies pressed together. “Oh, you’re no fun. But I should know I’m not going to get anything from you  _ here _ …” she said, putting one finger on Ingrid’s pursed lips. The motion also let her catch the scent of metal, again. She was holding the dagger in her hand. 

Ingrid must have tensed, because Dorothea tittered. “Don’t worry, I’m probably not going to hurt you. I have something else in mind, actually,” she said wryly. Ingrid felt Dorothea pull away again, and she heard the woman slide around to the front of the chair, so they were facing each other. “Yes, I have a much more pleasant idea.”

Dorothea grabbed the neck of Ingrid’s shirt and pulled it outward, then there was a downward tug, followed by the barely-audible whisper of a razor-sharp blade cutting through fabric. Ingrid suddenly felt air against her chest and stomach, and realized Dorothea had just cut her shirt open at the front. Her face went hot, and her captor hummed in satisfaction. “Much better. You’re so  _ cute _ , Ingrid.”

She reached out and poked just above the waistband of Ingrid’s trousers with a single fingernail, which she trailed upward, across Ingrid’s abdominal muscles, tense with anxiety. It traced up, over the bottom of her right breast, and did a slow, agonizing circle around the nipple, before scraping down across it once it had risen at the stimulation. Ingrid whimpered. She hadn’t expected this. 

“Leave...leave me alone, Dorothea,” she said, though it didn’t come out defiant and demanding. It was pleading, the request of a woman who realized, to her own horror, that she wouldn’t be able to hold out forever. Goddess, she needed to be touched. She needed it so  _ badly _ . 

“I think not, my darling Ingrid. No, I think I’m going to have some fun with you. And when I’m all done, you’re going to scream for me, you’re going to swear yourself to me, and you’re going to tell me you’d do  _ anything _ for me. How does that sound?” Dorothea asked.

“I won’t,” Ingrid hissed, and she hoped she sounded a good deal more confident than she felt.

Dorothea giggled. “See, you say that, but I feel like you’re already halfway there. For example…” she trailed off, palming Ingrid’s breast and squeezing lightly with one hand, drawing an involuntary little whine from her captive. “You’re already moaning for me. Screaming shouldn’t take much more work, right?”

She let go, dragging her hand up onto Ingrid’s shoulder and resting it there. Dorothea stroked the side of Ingrid’s neck absently with her thumb, caressing the sensitive skin. It took everything Ingrid had not to lean into the touch, but she knew it didn’t matter. She was breathing hard, her cheeks were flushed, and the goosebumps all over her body gave her away surely enough.

Resting her weight on Ingrid, Dorothea leaned down, whispering into her ear as though she were telling her a secret. "My dear Ingrid, you're so wonderfully pretty. I wish you could see yourself, squirming and whimpering for me, it’s positively intoxicating."

Ingrid squeaked, a most un-knightly sound, as she felt Dorothea's other hand come around to press the tip of that dagger against her sternum. The tip of it slid down, leaving a trail that burned like fire, and she swore she could feel something wet dripping down her abdomen. Had Dorothea cut her? Was she bleeding? With the blindfold on, it was hard to tell. The hand on her shoulder squeezed a little tighter.

“It’s so intoxicating,” Dorothea continued, “to watch you come apart like this. To look at you, to drink you in, to know you’re putty in my hands.” Dorothea traced curves and lines, and pulled the dagger up, scraping the curve of Ingrid’s breast ever so slightly, just enough to get her to cry out softly. She could feel the other woman lean in a little further, a little harder, so that their faces were right next to each other and Dorothea’s hair tickled her neck and shoulders.

“I could do whatever I wanted to you, and there’s nothing you could do to stop me. Why not just give yourself to me now and save yourself a bit of torment?” she asked, as the tip of the dagger flicked gently, ever so slightly, across her nipple. Ingrid let out a choked little whined, though she couldn’t say if it was from pain or arousal. “Oh, the things I could do to you. Or with you. Or... _ for  _ you, Ingrid.”

Dorothea pulled the dagger away and Ingrid heard something clatter to the floor. She heaved a sigh of relief, slumping forward and taking several deep, shuddering breaths. 

“My darling Ingrid, I just can’t keep my hands off of you. I don’t know what you do to me, but you’re positively irresistible,” Dorothea groaned, pressing her free hand to Ingrid’s collarbone and moving the other to cup her jaw, tilting her head up. “I want to touch every inch of you, I want to  _ feel _ you.” The hand on her collar slid down, over Ingrid’s chest, down her stomach, playing over her tensed, nervous muscle. “Oh, and I do mean  _ every _ inch of you.”

Dorothea’s hand dipped further, sliding under the waistband of Ingrid’s trousers and making her breath catch in her throat. “No,” she whimpered softly. If Dorothea felt her  _ there _ , felt how wet she was, she’d lose what little dignity she might have left. “Dorothea, don’t you dare, don’t-  _ ah!” _ Ingrid cried out as her captor slipped one delicate, dainty finger across her slit and withdrew it from between her legs. 

“Hmm. Interesting,” Dorothea mused to herself. “Ingrid, you’re soaked. You dirty girl, are you getting off on this?”

Ingrid stayed silent, ashamed. She’d been hoping to put up a stronger front than that. Dorothea apparently took her silence as confirmation, and Ingrid could hear the wicked grin in her voice as she spoke. 

“I have to ask, though. Is it because of my  _ tenderness _ ?” she inquired wryly, “or are so base that you would be aroused by threats? Are you that desperate?”

There was another long, drawn out moment of silence while Ingrid tried to decide how to respond, a moment where the only sounds to be heard were Dorothea’s breathing and her own heartbeat. She certainly couldn’t deny the evidence; she wasn’t about to lie either. Something about Dorothea’s behavior, something about the inherent danger in the use of that dagger, something about being bound and helpless, all of it combined to form a shamefully delicious cocktail of arousal that had spilled itself right between her legs. 

“I c-can’t help it,” she breathed, eventually, the tension plain in her voice, taut and strained. She sounded like a dam about to break, and she knew it. “But don’t you think you won. You can do whatever you want to me, but I’m not going to give you what you want.”

She heard Dorothea suck in a breath, then chuckle throatily. The other woman pinched her jaw just a little tighter and wiggled her hand. “My darling Ingrid, is that permission I hear? What an interesting way to try to get relief while still holding on to your last little shred of dignity. We’ll see if I can’t do something about that.”

Dorothea, still behind her, moved her hand from Ingrid’s chin to her neck and held her firm, though she didn’t cut off her airflow. Her touches were all feather-light, in fact, but Ingrid knew that she was being kept in place as surely as if she were bound with steel. She felt Dorothea bring her other hand, the one she’d dipped between her legs, to her cheek. Ingrid cringed away; she could feel her own moisture still on Dorothea’s finger and knew her face was heating up in response. “You said I could do whatever I wanted to you, Ingrid. I think you’ll regret that.”

She squeezed the knight’s throat just a bit tighter, then walked her fingers down Ingrid’s torso, once again reaching the waistband of her pants. “Despite all your bad behavior Ingrid, because I love you  _ so _ much, I’ll let you be mine, I’ll forgive it all, if only you ask.”

Ingrid’s retort was cut off as Dorothea slid her fingers in between her legs, over her trousers, teasing her through them. She gasped, her legs opening wider reflexively, an action that was not lost on Dorothea. 

“Really, so easily?” her captor snickered. “I just don’t know what to do with you, Ingrid. You keep telling me you’re not craving me, but at the slightest touch, you spread your legs for me. You can just  _ say _ you want me to fuck you, you know that, right?”

A hundred replies, snarky, clever, and defiant, came to mind almost immediately, but then Dorothea pressed just a  _ little _ bit harder against her and they all fled as quickly as a flock of birds before a cavalry charge. Ingrid groaned, low and slow, as Dorothea ground her palm against her. Her partner was keeping her on the back foot, she wasn’t able to reply as she’d like to, she wasn’t able to resist or deny her, and Dorothea, damn her, she  _ knew _ it. 

She tried to lean forward, to curl in on herself protectively, but Dorothea’s hand caught her neck and held fast before she could move more than a couple of inches. 

“Ah, no, you’re going to stay right here,” Dorothea teased, digging her nails into Ingrid’s neck lightly. “You’re going to keep your pretty little head right here, right next to mine. I’m going to enjoy all the cute noises you make. You might be a terror on the battlefield, Ingrid, but here? Here you’re just another girl, out of her depth, rubbing up against my hand because you’re too proud to ask for more.”

Ingrid forced her hips still, as she realized she’d been doing just that. She was giving in, bit by bit, inch by inch, and it frustrated her to no end. Dorothea was just so cocky and irritating sometimes, and- 

“Ah, Goddess!” she mewled as Dorothea paired a particularly masterful stroke with a warm, wet kiss against her neck. She could feel herself building slowly to a climax, one that she wouldn’t be able to stop no matter how hard she tried. 

Surely there was no dishonor in giving in, right? Dorothea already had her, was already working her over, there was no way she could escape. Surely, she could acquiesce to Dorothea’s demands and still sleep well at night. In fact, she’d probably sleep  _ better _ , if her captor’s honeyed words were to be believed. 

“Just say it, Ingrid. Three words, that’s all I ask,” Dorothea whispered against her neck, pressing the heel of her hand in slow, firm circles. “Just tell me ‘Dorothea, I’m yours’, and I’ll give you the relief you want. I’ll make you come, over and over, until you can barely move.”

Ingrid was at war with herself. She knew, intellectually, that caving to Dorothea’s demands would be a betrayal. It would be admitting defeat. But the growing heat in her stomach and between her legs was lending strength to another voice inside her.  _ Just give in _ , said the voice,  _ she’ll win in the end; might as well enjoy the ride. _

She whimpered again, squirming in Dorothea’s grip, and ground herself against her hand. It was conscious, this time, she let herself have that much, but no more, not an inch more, she wouldn’t cross that line, she wouldn’t-”

“Ingrid,” Dorothea cooed, nibbling on her ear. “I want you so badly. I want to touch you, feel you, taste you,  _ own _ you. Please, don’t you want to make me happy?”

“D-Dorothea, I...I” Ingrid began, tears clouding her vision before they ran down her cheeks in thin little lines. Lines that, of course, Dorothea interrupted with a dainty little flick of her tongue.

“Mm, yes Ingrid? Is there something you want to tell me?” she whispered, holding tight to her lover’s throat and moving quicker, harder at the apex of Ingrid’s thighs.

She choked, her words coming out in broken little sobs. “Dorothea, please, I’m…”

“Yes, darling? My dear, dear Ingrid?”

“I’m yours! Dorothea, I’m yours!” she shouted in frustration. 

It was as though she’d thrown a switch. Dorothea squeezed tighter on her neck, pulled her close, bit and licked and kissed as though she were dying of starvation and Ingrid was the only food for miles. Her hand slid up and dove into Ingrid’s trousers, quickly finding their way to her slick, ready, needy entrance. Ingrid cried out again as her captor’s fingers plunged inside her, just two, but with every thrust, she rubbed the heel of her hand directly against Ingrid’s clit and wrung another deep, ragged moan from the knight.

“Oh Ingrid, that makes me so happy,” Dorothea breathed, in between darting kisses and bites against her captive. “It makes me so, so happy. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you, oh dear Ingrid, I love you so.”

Ingrid had already been getting close to the edge, and the combination of Dorothea’s movements, her words, and the way she used her mouth were proving to be too much. She couldn’t even talk, could barely breathe, couldn’t do anything but buck against Dorothea’s hand and cry out like the base, honorless beast she was. She didn’t care, though; Ingrid had abandoned caring several minutes ago and the only thing in the world that mattered anymore was getting off.

“There we go, good girl,” Dorothea sighed, and Ingrid snapped like a too-taut bowstring in Dorothea’s inescapable grasp. The praise came just as Dorothea twisted her hand  _ just so _ and the building, mounting pressure inside Ingrid broke. She cried out, pulling against her bonds, her whole body shaking as she came apart in Dorothea’s arms, and it was one of the most wonderful, blissful things she’d ever felt.

She rode that high for what felt like hours, until she returned to herself, sweating and panting and groaning lightly as aftershocks made her twitch every now and then. Dorothea was stroking her cheek, brushing hair away from Ingrid’s face, and she let herself just enjoy it for a moment as she basked in the afterglow.

Ingrid took several shuddering breaths before trying to make any of her limbs work again; they’d all gone slack and it was difficult to move. She managed it, though, and sat up a little in the chair.

“Oh, my Ingrid,” Dorothea sighed, “you did so well. I legitimately didn’t think you’d make it that long!”

“Dorothea, the ropes?” Ingrid asked, and her voice felt just a little bit scratchy. “Some water wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

“Oh, right! The ropes!” Dorothea exclaimed, hurrying to grab the dagger and cut through them all, freeing Ingrid from the chair. She took Ingrid’s blindfold off too, and Ingrid blinked to help her eyes adjust to the low light of their bedroom.

She rubbed her wrists in turn, though she hadn’t lost circulation or anything. Dorothea was rather conscious of things like that. One of many reasons she made such an excellent partner, Ingrid supposed. “You...were pretty amazing yourself, ‘Thea,” she remarked, smiling lightly. “You make a really good villain, and Goddess, I never knew you could get so verbally  _ filthy _ .”   
  


Her wife snorted, coming around in front of Ingrid and handing her a cup of water before plopping down on her lap, casual as could be. Ingrid took it gratefully and had a long, deep draught, wrapping her free hand around Dorothea to keep her steady. “I may have played a villain once or twice in the opera. Don’t tease me, but, well, I really enjoy the roles. They’re so much fun, and so  _ dramatic _ !” Dorothea said, while Ingrid finished the water. 

Ingrid laughed, but only for a moment, before remembering something from earlier. She frowned and reached down to touch the spot on her torso where she’d felt moisture as Dorothea had been dragging the dagger across her. Her hand came away dry, and there was no pain. As she looked down, she didn’t even see a mark.

“Dorothea, what were you doing with that dagger? I know we’ve discussed it before, but I wasn’t really expecting it, and it  _ felt _ like you cut me. Wasn’t that a little bit dangerous?” she asked, confused. Dorothea broke into a knowing little grin. 

“Not as much as you might think, actually. I never actually touched you with  _ this  _ dagger. Just cut your shirt, and the ropes a moment ago,” she said, pointing to the weapon currently lying on the floor. 

“But-” Ingrid began, but Dorothea put a finger to Ingrid’s lips to silence her.

“Now, what I  _ did _ do was tease you with  _ that _ ,” she added, indicating a small table that Ingrid hadn’t noticed. Atop it was a small bowl with, she could barely make out, a good bit of half-melted ice in it. In the bowl, submerged, was a spreading knife with no edge at all. “When you get it cold, it feels just like a regular sharp knife, and since you were blindfolded…”

“Since I was blindfolded, I couldn’t tell. Clever.” Ingrid finished for her, returning her smile. “Either way, you did great, and I appreciate you indulging my goofy fantasy.” She leaned up and kissed Dorothea on the lips, full and warm.

After they pulled apart, Dorothea’s grin went from knowing, to devious, to wolfish. “Oh no, Ingrid, we’re not done yet” she said, hooking a finger under her chin and tilting her head up. “I believe I said something about making you come until you could barely move. As far as I can tell, you’re still pretty mobile and- oh!”

She yelped as Ingrid stood, picking her up bridal-style and returning her wolfish grin with one of her own. “Fair enough, but I’ll have you know I intend to give as good as I get,” Ingrid hummed.

Dorothea laughed, sonorous, as she slung her arms around Ingrid’s neck. “We’ll see, now won’t we, my knight?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! See? Just a bit of wholesome kinky fun between wives. No noncon or even dubcon. If you'd like to come talk to me and still not receive training on how to properly engage in knifeplay, catch me on twitter @spiderlilywrite


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